


Just Be Okay

by orphan_account



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: First time Arthur gets hurt in the gang, Other, Parent Dutch and Hosea, Young Arthur Morgan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:29:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26086495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Arthur has been under the mentor-ship of Dutch and Hosea for nearly a year now. As angry and unruly as when he was first flung under their care, he stores out of camp after an argument and gets into some serious trouble.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Dutch van der Linde, Hosea Matthews & Arthur Morgan, Hosea Matthews & Dutch van der Linde
Kudos: 54





	Just Be Okay

“I can handle myself you old crook!” Arthur yelled back, stopping his heel into the earth below him. Dutch just chuckled, resting his hands on his belt, “Is that so? Because it seems like you’re throwing another tantrum like some spoilt child.”

Arthur absolutely detested when Dutch spoke to him in that tone. Like he was some helpless little street kid. He had been robbing for years before he and Hosea found him. Hell, he had made more from pick pocketing rich bankers this month alone, then those two had all summer. What angered Arthur most though, was how he just stood there, calm. No signs of anger or fury building up inside him. Arthur would nearly rather if he screamed at him.

“Got back in one piece, didn’t I? I don’t see what you and Hosea are kickin' up such a fuss?” Arthur snapped back, trying not to let Dutch's comment wind him up anymore. Hosea’s head appeared from behind the paper he was reading on a nearby chair, no emotion on his face whatsoever. Dutch was the more physical of the two men, usually ended up doing the shooting but something about Hosea scared Arthur more.

“This time, Arthur, yes you did. But you snook out. What if you got in trouble and we didn’t know?” Hosea was just as bad as Dutch if not worse. Always offering a logical explanation to stuff in a near condescending way. Made Arthur feel like a right idiot. Arthur just huffed and pushed past Dutch, marching towards his horse. Dutch's laughing ringing in his ears.

”Running away Arthur?” Dutch asked, raising his hands a little. Arthur didn’t look back. He didn’t want to see either of them right now, not ever again. He hoisted himself up onto his horse and pulled on her reigns a little, kicking her side with the heel of his boots. He could hear Hosea calling out after him but didn’t look back. 

Who were they to lecture Arthur about what he could and couldn’t do? They have probably been robbing people longer than Arthur’s been alive. Sneaking and conning people at every opportunity, sometimes even when they didn’t need to. They were outlaws, wanted men. They of all people couldn't preach to Arthur about following rules and orders. Arthur whipped the reigns on his horse, the warm summer air becoming a bit cooler as his flew into his face, threatening to push his hat off his head. He fixed it, pulling it down into a more secure position. The hat was his fathers, another criminal. Another lowlife whose footsteps he was following. He shook his head trying to get out of this trail of thought. He was nothing like his father. He was smarter, better than he ever could be. Or so he hoped. Arthur was nearly bucked off his horse when a gunshot echoed through the woods he was riding through. He gripped onto the reigns for dear life, before his horse fell back down on all fours. He looked in front of him, two men stood. In the darkness he could just about notice the menacing grins on their faces, “What have we here?”

One of the men reloaded his shotgun, the other approached Arthur slowly, pointing his pistol directly at the sixteen year olds head. Arthur’s whole body tensed as the man came closer, “Bit late for you to be riding, don’t you think so son?”

The words were bitter on the mans tongue, condescending, just like Hosea and Dutch. He was underestimated Arthur. Big mistake, “What you doing out here?”

”Evening ride.” Arthur muttered back, watching closely as the man approached his horse, his hand stroking under her chin, his aim on Arthur never wavering, “Beautiful horse you have here.”

Arthur didn’t respond. He knew where this was going. He had seen it done to folk before. Horse stolen of them and then they’re abandoned to try find their way home. He watched as the barrel of the pistol was pushed just between his brows, his palms becoming sweaty. He took a deep breath and reached for the gun, ducking his down as he pushed it away from his head. Time seemed to slow down as Arthur wrestled the man for the gun. With one push, the pistol was aiming at the other man was was still reloading his gun. Arthur pressed down on the other mans gun, causing a bullet to fly out the barrel and straight into the other mans throat. Arthur had killed before, but never with a gun. He watched in horror as the man's gun fell to the ground, the man onto his knees soon after. He clung onto his throat, trying to stop the blood that was spraying out, the dark liquid leaking through his fingers before he finally collapsed.

The other man struck Arthur's cheek with his free hand causing the teen to fall of his horse. Arthur didn't loosen his grip on the gun, pulling the other man down to the ground as well. This was bad. He had to get up on the ground before he ended up like the other man. Arthur struck the mans face with his elbow, stunning him and giving Arthur just enough time to roll the other man onto his back. The two still wrestled for the gun, until a shot fired. The sound of the bullet echoed in his ears, causing them to ring. He struck the man in the face one more time, causing his grip to loosen allowing Arthur to shot him. Arthur fired the bullet right in the centre of his temple, the blood splattering all over his hands and face, the bitter taste of iron on his lips. His heart was pounding and his breaths were uneven. His shoulder grew warm, and suddenly the warm sensation grew painful. He looked at his right shoulder, seeing his bright blue shirt with a hole and dark stain around it and dripping down. He cursed himself and he suddenly began to feel lightheaded. He was a fool. How could he get shot?

The edge of his vision grew dark and he fell back onto the dirt road, let out a loud scream as his shoulder smacked against the ground. He closed his eyes shut.

Dutch and Hosea raced out of the camp as soon as they heard the first gunshot. Neither of the men spoke a word as the raced down the forrest track, Hosea leading the way. He was the better tracker out of the two men by fair. What he lacked in brawn he made up for in brains. A second gunshot echoed nearby. Hosea kicked his horse again, whipping the reigns. The third gunshot startled his horse, causing her to pull a little before he could get her to settle. The rode for another minute or so before the came across Arthur and the two corpses, his horse nowhere to be seen. Dutch leaped of his horse and ran towards the young teen, shaking his torso gently before leaning against his chest, “He’s breathin’”

”We need to get him back to camp, quick.”

The ride back seemed so much longer. Arthur’s limp body leaning up against Dutch, his head bobbing gently. Stupid, foolish boy, Dutch thought to himself. He was angry at him, but more so scared. He wouldn’t admit it but he had grown fond of the unruly teen. His wild antics, his enthusiasm for jobs. Hosea called for Miss Grimshaw as soon as they arrived back at camp, the woman exiting her tent almost immediately. She berated both men with questions as she helped Dutch take Arthur of his horse. Hosea ignored his and untrusted her to go get whatever medical supplies they had. While she raced into her tent, Hosea and Dutch carried Arthur to his own, resting him on his cot and taking off his blood soaked shirt. Luckily for the boy, the bullet had gone clean through. Some whiskey and stitches would have him right as rain in a few weeks. Miss Grimshaw came back, pushing Hosea and Dutch out of the way and tending to his wounds. Both men exited the tent and stood outside, impatiently waiting for her to finish. They flinched as they heard a blood curdling scream from Arthur followed by grunts and smaller yelps. Dutch ran his hand through his hair repeatedly, pacing back and forth. Hosea stood still, lost in his own trail of thought.

The tent flap opened and both men spun round, “How is he Susan?” Dutch asked.

”He’ll be fine. Just need to make sure he rests and he don’t get a fever.” A sigh of relief escaped Hosea’s lips and a weak smile grew on Dutch’s, “Now let the boy get some rest, you can talk to him tomorrow.”

Dutch was woken up but Arthur screaming out again in the middle of the night. The older man didn’t even bother with shoes, racing towards the boys tent. He was sprawled across the cot, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. The teen was muttering over and over to himself. Nightmare. Dutch approached him, taking the teens arm and shaking him, “Arthur? Arthur wake up!”

Arthur’s eyes shot open and he tried to sit up but instantly fell back as a sharp pain shot through his arm. His eyes darted around the tent before the landed on Dutch’s. Dutch smiled, “You’re okay, son. It was just a dream.”

Arthur shook his head, “Wasn’t no dream. I shot those men.” He croaked, throwing his head back against the pillow. His chest rising up and down quickly.

”I’m sure you had good reason to, just, try to push it out of your mind. You need sleep.” Dutch assured, taking Arthur’s hand in his own and squeezing it gently. Arthur yanked his hand away, remembering how the man’s felt against his as they wrestled for the gun. He looked at his hand, blood still under his nails and in between the lines. Dutch reached for his hand again, Arthur didn’t pull away this time, rather looked back up at Dutch, ”Am I a bad man, Dutch?”

Dutch couldn’t stop the small chuckle that escaped his lips. He knew he and Hosea were bad men. In fact they were worse than bad, but Arthur, he wasn’t. Hell, he wasn’t even a man yet. Everything the teen had done in his life was in order to survive. No mother or father to guide him. He had to do those things to make it in this cruel world. Either that, or end up like most other orphans, dead in some decaying building or roaming the streets. Dutch shook his head, “No, you’re not. Not at all.”

Arthur lips parted to say something but he got caught on the words. He let out a deep sigh, “Can you stay for a bit? Just ‘till I fall asleep.”

Dutch nodded his head, “Of course, son.”


End file.
